


And Don't Call Me Pookie

by tklivory



Series: Fractured Thedas Tales [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Animals, Bickering, F/M, Gen, Humor, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 12:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2347979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory





	And Don't Call Me Pookie

 

_Art by the amazing[CalypsoTea!](http://calypsotea.tumblr.com/)_

 

* * *

 

“I  _told_ you, fool, she vanished without a word!”

Spawn-Killer’s ears twitched as he dozed nearby, but he didn’t leave the Grey Lands just yet. He’d caught the scent of something  _fascinating_  in the odd, formless landscape of his dreams _,_  and didn’t want to lose his prey just because She of the Frost was excitable.

“Morrigan, be reasonable.”

Snorting, Spawn-Killer rolled onto his back, paws twitching as he tried to dig deeper into the Grey Lands. Clang of Metal was usually not a terrible fellow to be around, if a bit predictable, but that  _scent_  in the Grey Lands demanded Spawn-Killer’s full attention _…_   _Oh, that marvelous scent… So close… Is that another of my kind?_

“Reasonable, Alistair? Is that not what you told her right before we were attacked by those mercenaries in Denerim?” She of the Frost snorted. “And I hardly think it unreasonable to worry when Neria wanders off alone. Remember what happened last time?”

_That_  pulled Spawn-Killer away from the tantalizing scent and out of the Grey Lands. With a whuff and a bark, Spawn-Killer rolled to his feet, whining as he looked at She of the Frost.  _“You think it could happen again?”_  he barked.

“See? Even the mangy mutt is worried.” Spawn-Killer’s tail wagged at the compliment, then stopped when he remembered She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored was missing and might even be in _danger…_

“All right, all right,” Clang of Metal said as he pulled himself to his feet. “Though I still think it’s a bit creepy that you check her tent every night. What if she wants privacy?”

“You’re just saying that because some day you hope to be inside it with her,” She of the Frost sniffed.

“What? No, of course not!” Clang of Metal said as his face turned dark red. “I have the utmost respect for my fellow Warden!”

_He’s not near the fire,_  Spawn-Killer mused.  _Why does his face burn?_  Deciding it wasn’t important, he gave his body a shake as he began to bounce back and forth, forcing his sleep-drugged body to  _wake up quickly._

“Indeed? ‘Tis most strange, then, to see your  _respect_  - and gaze - directed towards her--”

Clang of Metal retrieved his Round-Metal-Thing with a clatter, obscuring whatever words would have come next. “Right, Neria, she’s gone you say? Must get moving! The Frostbacks don’t forgive much wandering, do they?”

Not caring why Clang of Metal was using such a loud, forceful voice, Spawn-Killer ran to the tent where She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored slept, sniffing until he picked up her scent. With a sharp bark, he ran back to where the two-leggers argued, running in a circle around them as he urged them to follow. He noticed others were rising - perhaps out of the same concern he felt - and barked louder, running to each and every one to make sure they were just as worried as he was.

“What is going on?” the Dry Old Bat asked, her voice dull with sleep. “Why is Pookie so upset?”

_“Spawn Killer!”_  Spawn-Killer corrected with a sharp bark, but as usual, the two-leggers ignored him.

“Neria is not in her tent, and I fear she may have wandered too far once again,” She of the Frost told the Dry Old Bat.

“Oh, dear.” the Dry Old Bat sighed. “That does sometimes happen with young mages when they first leave the Tower. Perhaps I could help you look for her.”

“No need, Wynne,” Clang of Metal said as he bared his teeth at the older two-legger. “I’m sure I can find her.”

“As if I’d let you go alone,” She of the Frost said with a sniff. “We tried that in Redcliffe and look what happened.”

“Look, I thought we all agreed never to bring that up again, all right?” Clang of Metal whined. “Besides, you’re hardly one to talk after what happened in the Tower. At least I never made Neria cry.”

“Oh? Then you haven’t been paying attention, fool.”

“And what is  _that_  supposed to mean?”

Spawn-Killer sighed and whined loudly to get their attention.  _“Can’t you just fight like Four-Paws and bite each other? She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored might be in trouble!”_

“Maker help me, why are we standing around arguing about this?” Clang of Metal asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve got to get out there before she finds something dangerous to be curious about. Wynne, take over watch of the camp.”

The Dry Old Bat nodded. “I’ll wake Sten to help keep guard. Now go find her. Poor thing probably thinks snow is  _fun_  when it’s ten feet deep.”

With another bark, Spawn-Killer ran back to the scent and began to follow it, not caring if the two-leggers followed at this point. The thought of She-Who-Must-Be-Adored stuck in a snowdrift somewhere made him hurry his pace into the night and the surrounding area.

By the time Spawn-Killer had followed the scent into snow deep enough for the footprints to turn into calfprints, the two-leggers had caught up with him, though he vaguely noticed they were still talking at one another in that tone of voice that, among the Four-Paws, was the equivalent of biting another’s hindquarters. Ignoring them as much as possible, he followed the scent further until suddenly one paw slipped down into nothingness. With a yelp, he stepped back from the verge of the small cliff that had suddenly appeared in front of him before turning to whine at the two-leggers behind him.

“Oh, Maker, please let her be all right,” Clang of Metal breathed softly as he looked over the edge and down into the impenetrable darkness. “I don’t see anyone down there, boy. Are you sure this is where she went?”

Even as Spawn-Killer whined,  _“Yes!”_  the woman next to Clang of Metal, said in a harsh tone that made Spawn-Killer want to crouch and cower on the ground, “Who else do you think made those footprints, fool?” Light suddenly bloomed around them as she lifted her Funny-Smelling-Stick, a ball of white light surrounding the end of it, and Spawn-Killer smelled the scent of concern form a small cloud around her. “There,” she said suddenly, pointing to the right. “An imprint in the snow. She probably took Oghren’s shield to slide down the slope and then couldn’t get back up.”

Clang of Metal went to the imprint and prodded it. “It’s about that wide,” he agreed. “And she really enjoyed the shield-sledding on the way to Orzammar with my shield.”

“Speaking of which…” She of the Frost said with a raised eyebrow, pointing at the snow once more.

“You’re not serious,” Clang of Metal breathed.

“We have to follow her path to learn where she is.” Spawn-Killer tilted his head, not sure why She of the Frost sounded so irritated. He was just glad that she wasn’t talking to  _him_  in that  _bad dog_  tone of voice _._

“Let’s just hurry, all right?” Clang of Metal said as he laid his Round-Metal-Thing onto the ground and then lowered himself into it.

“Believe you me, I find nothing to enjoy in these circumstances,” She of the Frost said as she lowered herself to sit on him. “The mangy mutt can find his own way down. Push us off.”

Spawn Killer watched with interest as Clang of Metal pushed the ground until his Round-Metal-Thing teetered on the edge, then suddenly barked and dashed forward, giving the two-leggers the extra push they needed to get over the edge.

“Pookie, no--!” Clang of Metal said, but it was too late. Spawn-Killer craned his neck to watch them go rolling down the slope, then wagged his tail and began to pick his own way down.

_“My name is Spawn-Killer,”_  he growled softly.

.~^~.

“Oh, you should be glad we need that nose of yours!”

Spawn-Killer ignored She of the Frost as he continued to follow the scent of She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored through the thick snow.  _The snow will melt, I’m not sure why she is so upset. There’s more important matters apaw!_

“Not to mention Neria wouldn’t be very happy if you did anything to him, permanent or not,” Clang of Metal drawled. “And you’re not the one with a very uncomfortable dent in… unmentionable places, are you?”

“Enough of your prattling,” the woman responded. “Let’s just find her and get back to camp. I suppose I should be grateful that he found her scent at all after the unceremonious way you took us down the slope.”

Clang of Metal snorted. “Oh, so this is  _my_ fault, now?”

“Well, you were the one who showed her how to sled using a shield. If she hadn’t gotten that fool notion in her head, we would not presently be tromping through the snow looking for her in the dead of night in the Frostbacks, would we?” Spawn-Killer heard She of the Frost gag slightly. “Did you  _have_  to drop me into the deepest drift on the way down?”

“Look,  _I_ didn’t push us--”

Suddenly the snow gave way to rock, and the scent grew much stronger. Spawn-Killer barked and ran forward, following the scent to the entrance of a cave that would have been impossible to find in the darkness.

“Thank the Maker, she found a cave!” Clang of Metal said as he reached where Spawn-Killer was standing. “Do you think--”

Suddenly a familiar voice emanated from the mouth of the cave, one very familiar to all of them. “I knew if I bided my time, my patience would pay off. All it took was one moment of carelessness on your part, and now you are helpless in my clutches.”

Spawn-Killer cocked his head, then sniffed the ground quickly.  _Ah, yes, there he is. He tried to cover his scent with that liquid he drinks all the time, that brandy of his._  He noticed that both of the two-leggers suddenly smelled unhappy, and raised his head to look at Clang of Metal, worried.

Clang of Metal turned to She of the Frost with a frown. “That’s Zevran,” he said in a soft voice. “What’s  _he_  doing here?”

“I never should have trusted a Crow like you,” another person answered from the cave, and Spawn-Killer’s ears perked forward as he panted and wiggled his tail.  _It was She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored!_ Confident that everything was all right, he started to trot forward.

Before he could bark in greeting to her, though, Clang of Metal reached out and clamped his hand over Spawn-Killer’s muzzle, preventing him from proceeding further into the corridor. “Hush, Pookie,” the man said in a quiet voice, oblivious to Spawn-Killer’s mentally barked correction of his name. “He might hurt her if we aren’t silent.” Then he let go of Spawn-Killer’s muzzle and patted him on the rump. “Better let us take care of it.”

“Ah, but my dear, surely I have not been anything less than utterly, utterly charming?” He of the Smelly Boots’ voice, though a bit faint from distance and echo, sounded as cheerful as always. “If ever you were going to be absconded by a scoundrel, surely you could do worse than a deadly, sexy assassin?”

“Are you sure we can trust that mangy mutt to stay behind and not interfere?” She of the Frost said warily as Clang of Metal began to move into the cave slowly. “What if he comes in barking and Zevran decides not to risk her escape?”

“Pookie wouldn’t do anything to endanger Neria, that I’m sure of,” Clang of Metal said softly.

Spawn-Killer inhaled to correct the man about his name one more time, then paused, thinking about the two-leggers words.  _She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored, in danger? From He of the Smelly Boots?_ He hunkered down onto the ground, confused.  _I thought she liked him._

As Spawn-Killer cowered, Clang of Metal edged into the cave, She of the Frost following after him like a silent shadow. After an agonizing moment of indecision, Spawn-Killer followed, but at a distance and as quietly as he could possibly manage.

“And here I thought  _I_  was the deadly sex goddess,” Spawn-Killer heard his mistress say from deeper in the cave, but he was too busy trying to be as silent as possible to try to understand what she meant. Though Spawn-Killer saw mostly darkness, he could just make out a light at the far end of it, a flickering orange light that reminded him of the fire at the main camp.

“Oh, you most certainly are that, my dear,” He of the Smelly Boots replied, his voice a bit louder and clearer now that Spawn-Killer was getting closer. “And I certainly intend to savor every last inch of that luscious form of yours before I must, regrettably, fulfill my contract.”

Spawn-Killer really didn’t know what He of the Smelly Boots was talking about, but he heard the tremble in the voice of She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored as she gasped and said, “You wouldn’t  _dare!”_

Now Spawn-Killer could see them in the distance. She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored was sitting on some blankets on the floor, her wrists and ankles tied with rope. He of the Smelly Boots held a blade to her throat and was baring his teeth as he looked down at her. Spawn-Killer trembled in place, fighting the urge to run forward and tear out He of the Smelly Boots’ throat. Instead he shifted his paws restlessly, hoping that the two-leggers would do  _something_  soon - before He of the Smelly Boots did something to She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored.

Suddenly the cave grew colder as a ball of ice and snow launched from the shadows and enveloped He of the Smelly Boots, freezing him into place. As fast as Spawn-Killer was when he pushed himself into action, Clang of Metal was faster, running forward to bash into the elf with his shield, knocking him to the ground and pinning him there. “Morrigan, untie Neria!”

“Alistair?” She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored said in a startled voice. “Morrigan? What are you two--”

“You’re safe now, Neria,” She of the Frost said in a much more soothing voice than Spawn-Killer was used to as she hurried to Neria’s side and cut the ropes at her ankles and wrists away. “I can’t believe Zevran would do this to you.”

“No, Morrigan, you don’t understand,” She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored started to say, but Spawn-Killer barreled into her at that point.

_“Mistress! He had metal to your throat! You were tied up!”_ Spawn-Killer barked, running around the two women in a circle.  _“And he took most of your coverings! We need to find them again so you won’t freeze when we can take you back!”_

“I never trusted him,” Clang of Metal declared as He of the Smelly Boots groaned beneath him. “Morrigan, throw me that rope. I’ll see if I can tie him up. Unless you just want me to kill him, Neria?”

“Kill him? Andraste’s tits,  _no,_ Alistair.” She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored put her head in her hands. “Oh,  _Maker,_  this is why we left the camp in the first place.” She winced and looked up. “Pookie, be quiet, please. Your barks are too loud in this place.”

_“Spawn-Killer!”_ Spawn-Killer barked out of habit, then sat on his haunches and panted, just happy that She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored was safe.

“What do you mean, why you left camp in the first place?” Clang of Metal demanded. When He of the Smelly Boots stirred, he thumped his shield on the elf again - hard. “I don’t understand.”

She of the Frost, however, had covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking slightly for a few moments before they stilled. “Oh, I see. Well, then. It seems I owe you an apology, Neria.”

“Are they joining in?” He of the Smelly Boots finally said from where he was pinned to the ground. “Is this a lovely surprise you’ve cooked up for me, my dear Warden? Tell you what, you can have Morrigan, and I’ll take Alistair.”

“Ah, I don’t think Morrigan would approve,” She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored said with that odd twist to her lip that meant amusement.

“What are you  _talking_  about?” Clang of Metal demanded indignantly.

“Let him go, Alistair,” Spawn-Killer’s mistress said in suddenly tired voice. “You’ve ruined my birthday enough.”

“Birthday?” She of the Frost and Clang of Metal echoed together, then exchanged a look that quickly turned accusatory.

“Yes, and Zevran had planned a lovely surprise for me, a surprise that you just walked in on and ruined rather thoroughly.” When Clang of Metal’s brow wrinkled and smelled confused, She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored sighed and said, “Remember that book I gave you as a gift for St. Havard’s day?”

“Oh, you mean  _Fifty Shades of Grey War_ \--” Clang of Metal suddenly turned the oddest shade of bright red as he looked down at He of the Smelly Boots, who was now baring as many of his teeth as possible, then hurriedly got up. “Oh, ah… Oh. Um, yes, well, ah… I’ll… just be over there blushing, shall I?” Quickly he hurried away a few steps, muttering to himself.

Spawn-Killer tilted his head and whuffed,  _“What’s wrong with him?”_  but the two-leggers ignored him. Instead, they were making that odd snorting noise they called _laughter_. When He of the Smelly Boots went to offer his hand to his mistress, however, Spawn-Killer dropped into an aggressive stance and growled.

“Oh, Pookie, he’s  _fine._  We were… playing.”

_“Spawn-Killer!”_  he barked, then trotted closer and put his head on her knee, looking up at her and blinking sorrowfully.  _“And he had metal to your throat.”_

“You’ll just have to trust me, Pookie. And Zevran.” She nodded towards He of the Smelly Boots, who bowed to Spawn-Killer. “For me, all right?”

Spawn-Killer growled, then whined, then heaved a great sigh and flopped onto the ground.  _Two-leggers are so confused. It’s a good thing she has me._

“So how did you find us, anyway?” He of the Smelly Boots asked with a raised eyebrow.

Clang of Metal turned around and pointed at She of the Frost. “It was all her idea. She looked in your tent during our watch and told me we had to find you.”

She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored turned to She of the Frost. “You looked in my--”

Settling her arms across her chest, She of the Frost glared at Clang of Metal. “The fool is partially right, but he was the one who insisted that Zevran meant to harm you.”

“Ah, he did say that he was going to fulfill his contract. Pretty damning stuff if you ask--” Clang of Metal began.

“Only to someone who has the wit of a buffoon and the sexual expertise to match,” She of the Frost said as she stood.

“Oh, now  _that’s_ a low blow.” He of the Smelly Boots looked at She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored and bared his teeth. “This could get interesting.”

“Uh, could this wai--” She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored began.

“It’s hardly any of your business what kind of  _expertise_  I have, is it?” Clang of Metal demanded, not seeming to hear Spawn-Killer’s mistress.

She of the Frost waved an arm through the air, her eyes still looking to Clang of Metal. “Well, at least  _I_  never asked if they served  _broth_ in a  _brothel,_  Alistair. What conclusion was I supposed to draw when you did, I wonder?”

“He said what now?” He of the Smelly Boots chuckled.

“Well, at least my mother didn’t want to kill me _,”_   Clang of Metal said as he took a couple of steps towards She of the Frost.

The woman snorted. “True, but at least she didn’t abandon me as a child either.”

Spawn-Killer rolled over, trying to cover his ears with his paws.  _“Why don’t you just bite each other instead and get it over with?”_ he whined plaintively.

“Um, I’m actually getting quite cold now that--” She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored said, trying to interrupt them.

“Oh?” Clang of Metal demanded, taking another step forward until he was only a short distance from She of the Frost. “Well, at least I don’t run around flaunting my magic at every turn.”

“And at least  _I_ don’t sound like the contents of an iron foundry being rattled in a steel barrel when we’re traveling!” She of the Frost snapped as she stepped forward to glare up at Clang of Metal from mere inches away.

“Ah, Neria is quite distressed,” He of the Smelly Boots said, looking at She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored with a scent of concern hovering around him.

The objection was quickly overpowered by Clang of Metal slamming his fist against his chest. “You mean like that?” he demanded. “At least  _I_  don’t complain about the armor that makes sure the blades of our enemies don’t find you!”

“All right, that is  _it!”_  Spawn-Killer’s mistress snapped, waving her hands through the air. Suddenly Clang of Metal and She of the Frost crumpled to the ground, snoring. “Huh. It actually worked.” Shaking her head slightly, She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored reached down and grabbed the other woman, dragging her to a boulder on the other side of the cave. “Zevran, grab the rope and bring Alistair over here.”

Spawn-Killer watched curiously as She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored and He of the Smelly Boots propped the snoring two-leggers onto the boulder, sitting with their backs to each other, and then tied the rope around them. He whined and covered his ears again when his mistress pointed her finger at the rock and began to move her finger over the surface, causing a high-pitched squeal to fill the cave.

When she stepped back from the rock with a nod, He of the Smelly Boots tilted his head. “Time-Out Rock?” he asked with a great baring of teeth.

She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored lifted and lowered her shoulders. “They were acting like children, so I’ll treat them like one. Besides, this way we can go have fun somewhere else.”

“Ah, but you know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?” He of the Smelly Boots sighed heavily. “Children need a supervisor, or alas, they tend to figure out ways to evade their punishment.”

“Hmm, true.” His mistress looked over to Spawn-Killer, who quickly wiggled his haunches back and forth and gave her a proper grin, mouth open and tongue lolling. “You still have that crate you brought with the… ah, supplies?”

“Maker forbid I plan one of our sessions without it, but yes.”

“Bring me some string and a plank of wood.” She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored looked at the two sitting on the rock, since the snoring had abated and they were beginning to wake up. “I’ve got an idea.”

“What is the meaning of this?” She of the Frost demanded indignantly after she awoke and started to struggle against the bindings.

“Hey, ow! Don’t do that, it pinches!” Clang of Metal protested.

Before either of them could say anything further, Spawn-Killer’s mistress spoke in a sharp voice, one that made Spawn-Killer instantly feel guilty that he had done  _something_  wrong. “Until you two can act like adults, I’m not letting you off of that rock. I had to improvise since we’re not at camp, but I trust my meaning is perfectly clear. Until you both apologize to each other - and to me - you can’t leave that rock. Understood?”

“This is absurd,” She of the Frost began, but She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored cut her off.

“No exceptions. Oh, and me and Zev are going to go have that fun you interrupted, so feel free to talk amongst yourselves until I get back.”

“You’re not going to-- Not here, are you?” Clang of Metal asked, his face turning bright red again.

“No, but don’t worry. You’ll be in good paws.” Taking something from He of the Smelly Boots, she moved her finger over the plank’s surface. The smell of burning wood filled the cave, and she turned the wood around to show the two sitting on the rock. “What does this say?”

Clang of Metal had to crane his neck, but finally he ventured, “Warden?”

With a nod, She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored quickly tied a string around the sign, then turned and deposited it on Spawn-Killer’s neck. “There we go. He’s me, for all intents and purposes, until I come back. Pookie, listen carefully.”

_“Spawn-Killer!”_ he whined, then subsided. No-one ever listened, anyway.

“I want you to make sure they stay on that rock until they apologize or until I come back. You remember that word, right? ‘Sorry’?” Spawn-Killer whimpered and bobbed his head. “Good boy. This is very serious business, so make sure they don’t move.”

Spawn-Killer barked and turned in a quick circle, showing he understood.  _“I won’t fail you, mistress!”_

“There’s a good boy,” She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored said as she hugged him, then scratched behind his ears. “Now go guard.”

Spawn-Killer quickly moved en pointe, staring at the two intently for a while. In fact, he was staring so intently, he didn’t notice when He of the Smelly Boots and She-Who-Is-To-Be-Adored left. Whatever the sacred trust of  _Time-Out-Rock_  was, Spawn-Killer would defend its sanctity.

Even if she did insist on calling him Pookie.


End file.
